


I Wish We Had Never Talked At All (Our Hips Said It All)

by bruisespristine



Series: Song Fics [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Control, F/F, Injury, Orgasm Delay, PWP, Pain, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(oneshot)</p><p>“If we do this, there are rules.” Shaw sounds almost disinterested, but Root can feel the undisguised heat in her gaze as she trails it down Root’s heaving torso like a searchlight. </p><p>“What rules?” Root is only taking little sips of air, unbelievably strung out, a mess of sensations, and it only worsens with Shaw leaning forwards and pushing up her bra, leaning down and breathing out on to her hard, aching nipple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wish We Had Never Talked At All (Our Hips Said It All)

Lyrics and title from Cursive- From the Hips (great song)

  
_I'm at my best when I'm at my worst_  
_I'm at worst when it's not rehearsed_  
_I don't wanna know the goddamn words_  
_I don't wanna have to spell it out_  
_Don't wanna mumble what i'm trying to say_  
_I wanna scream it from my foaming mouth_  
_Shoot out the lights and ride away_

From the Hips- Cursive

 

“This isn’t how I imagined, oh, fuck, the first time you were knuckle deep in me,” Root’s eyes roll back, her words stretched out and punctuated by sharp little inhales.

“Funny, this is basically exactly how I thought it would go.” Shaw’s eyebrows are drawn together in concentration, her gloved fingers working confidently inside Root’s body.

Root can see sweat beading on her forehead, but when she tries to reach up to run her fingertips over it, Shaw growls at her, and Root complies, bonelessly letting Shaw do what she will. 

“So you’ve, oh, god, you’ve thought about it?” Root’s mouth keeps working soundlessly after she’s forced the question out through clenched teeth.

“Root, stay still, you’re not helping.” There’s a little clatter of metal as Shaw draws another piece of debris out of Root’s abdomen.

“You’re not denying it...” Root breathes out, biting her lip at the momentary cessation of pain. Her hands are clammy and stiff-fingered from being wrapped around the couch fabric. 

“Have you ever noticed that when you talk, it annoys me?” Shaw fiddles with a needle and thread, and then Root feels the sharpsharpsharp tugging feeling of a stitch being drawn through angry flesh for the third time this evening.

“I like it when you’re annoyed. You make the sexiest face. Like you’re going to punish me. Oh.” The new little bites of pain are different to the long, drawn out buzz of agony that’s been burning in her for the last forty minutes, and Root welcomes the change, lets the feeling run over her jangling nerve endings. 

She knows her eyes are blown with adrenaline and arousal, her nervous system has always been entangled differently to the average person, but this, right now, with Shaw _in_ her is even more intense than she ever could have guessed at. She wonders if she could come just from the feel of Shaw’s fingers on her damaged skin, the look on her face.

Shaw makes an irritated noise, and Root has to close her eyes, oversensitive to the light. The feeling of Shaw pressed up against her uninjured side and the soft anger of her precise fingers plucking at strings tied through Root’s wound buzzes around her bones, like razor wire making her want to fold in on herself and touch herself all at the same time. 

She doesn’t realise she’s lifting her hips up a little until Shaw’s firm, bloody hand presses down onto her hipbone, holding her in place. She feels it like a brand, like a tattoo, ink pushing out of Shaw’s skin into hers, she thinks she’ll wear the mark forever. 

Shaw takes a little, shuddery breath, and Root flutters her eyes open. Shaw is leaning down, inspecting the injury site with professional eyes, but there’s heat in her cheeks and when she looks up at Root the lust in her gaze is unmistakable. 

“Mm, you’re thinking about it right now,” Root points out, leaning her hip into Shaw’s hand. It sends a shocking shudder of pain sparking from the ripped meat of her side, the marks left by a dozen pieces of metal thudding into her. 

Shaw carefully cleans the drying blood off her side without making eye contact again, but Root can see her shallow breathing, can practically feel the control Shaw is forcing onto her own, unwilling body while she finishes checking the wounds. 

“You said yourself, none of the muscles are badly torn. And here I am, all strung out and needy...” Root doesn’t quite know why she’s pushing, but her whole body feels like a giant, beating drum of desire and pain so incredibly wrapped together there’s no way to tell the beginning of one from the end of the other. A pair of celtic-knotted ouroboroi, each devouring the tail of the other sensation. 

Shaw looks up, jaw knotted, eyebrows down and thunderous. Root wets her lips, and Shaw’s eyes dart downward, then follow the line of her throat, over the screwed up knot of her tshirt, pushed up over her small, heaving breasts in her blood-flecked bra. 

Root actually stops breathing as Shaw moves, slowly, delicately reaching for one of the medium sized wounds, just under Root’s right breast, a puckered little line drawn together with one, single stich like a spider’s leg. 

Shaw presses her thumb against it, almost tenderly, rubs a circle like a localised massage, and pain shivers through Root, making her arch on the sofa. She moans, the loud sound splintering the quiet that’s fallen over the room like a feather blanket. 

The thumb presses again, drags down, pulling Root’s overloaded, hypersensitive body into a half turn, so she’s lying with her injured side up and exposed for Shaw’s attention while at the same time able to wrap her leg around Shaw’s side, trying to pull her closer. 

Shaw is rigid and unyielding, she splays her hand on Root’s side and pushes her body back, refusing to give her the contact she wants, but then to Root’s delight she follows, straddling Root’s hips and peeling off her gloves in two smooth movements that drain the air right out of Root’s lungs and leave her light-headed and reeling, hips dancing under Shaw’s firm body. 

“If we do this, there are rules.” Shaw sounds almost disinterested, but Root can feel the undisguised heat in her gaze as she trails it down Root’s heaving torso like a searchlight. 

“What rules?” Root is only taking little sips of air, unbelievably strung out, a mess of sensations, and it only worsens with Shaw leaning forwards and pushing up her bra, leaning down and breathing out on to her hard, aching nipple. 

“We don’t talk during, or after,” Shaw’s breath is hot like a fire licking against Root’s skin and she groans, arching her back and trying to push her nipple into Shaw’s mouth, her side singing pain and heat when she moves. 

“The only thing you get to say is my name, and please, or we stop.” Shaw is so close to Root’s breast that she can feel the light shivers of her lips tickling as she moves, like a feather. 

 

“Shaw...oh, Shaw. Please.” Root acquiesces to the rule easily, and Shaw finally, phenomenally sucks her nipple into her scalding mouth and Root chokes on a cry, wraps her hands into Shaw’s hair and tries to remember to breathe. 

Shaw licks and sucks for a while, grabbing Root’s breast roughly in her strong hand but gentle with her mouth aside from the occasional, stinging bite that sends heat rolling through Root’s body and adds to the growling ache built up inside her from the moment Shaw competently pulled on her gloves (and maybe Root has developed a latex fetish just for Shaw because the sensation of the material whirling over her skin feels like it’s left whorls and dots that she’ll see and feel forever). 

Her mouth leaves a hot trail across Root’s sternum, sucking a small, pink mark onto the point of her collarbone, and up her throat. She pulls Root’s earlobe into her mouth and Root actually lets out a little sob, her body swaying up into the touch like she’s tied to Shaw. 

“This changes nothing,” Shaw murmurs into Root’s ear, and Root shudders, groaning.

“Please.” It’s the right answer, Shaw lifts her hips, presses her left hand against Root’s sternum to take her weight, crushing the air out of Root’s lungs. Shaw slides her right hand down between them and into Root’s pants without further ado. Her touch scalds Root’s skin, she thinks if she looked there would be black, ashy marks left behind her fingerprints. 

Shaw takes some of her weight with her stomach muscles, letting Root take in a heaving gulp of air as Shaw’s fingers push down into her panties, gathering the wetness that’s pooled there and dragging it upward, spreading it over her throbbing, sensitive clit. 

Root curls in on herself, in on Shaw, her hands grasping at Shaw’s back like she’s drowning. New pain spins through her at the movement, while Shaw’s muscles work under her grip as she traps Root’s clit between two fingers, sliding down and down until the tips of her fingers are pressed against Root’s entrance while her clit is still, somehow, squeezed between them. 

“You don’t come til I say,” Shaw says casually, rocking her fingers against each other so Root’s clit is massaged roughly, and Root nods frantically, ready to agree to anything.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Root?” She twists her fingers against each other and Root throws her head back, on the brink of coming but forbidden, holding herself back even though it feels like every single sensation in the world is trying to force her over.

“Please, please Shaw.” Through the battery of feeling Root manages to hold on to the words she’s allowed to say, and she mumbles them over and over again, a constant barrage. Shaw strokes her roughly, wriggles her hand deeper, cocks her wrist and finally enters Root, so slowly it feels like she’s drowning, falling apart under Shaw’s hand. 

She can barely focus on anything except the orgasm she’s teetering on the edge of, holding on with sharp claws in Shaw’s back and hard teeth in her own lip. Shaw drags it out, tortures her, never quite pushing into her Gspot, but bullying her clit with the heel of her hand and pushing roughly in and out of her.

Finally, finally, Shaw leans down and murmurs, “you can come now, Root, come for me,” while changing the angle of her thrusts, and Root obeys, shattering and spiralling out of herself, body curling up and darts of pain from her injuries extending the pleasure-pain of it all until blackness blooms in her vision and she collapses backwards, breathing in ragged little pants while Shaw drags the orgasm out into something beyond physical sensations. 

When Root opens her eyes, Shaw has moved, she’s sat on the chair near to the couch, watching Root with a faintly pleased, predatory expression. Root starts to speak, but Shaw shakes her head once and Root subsides, not knowing what it was she wanted to say anyway. 

They stay in silence for a while, Root’s chest heaving and dotted with fresh dashes of blood. After a while, Shaw gets to her feet, rummages in her bag and finds an antiseptic wipe and some gauze. She recleans Root’s injuries, dresses them, and runs professional fingers over them. 

“Keep them dry, I’ll change the dressings in 72 hours.” Root finally has her quaking body back under control, and the need to reference what happened between them is building in her, but she remembers Shaw’s rules, and hell, if there’s an even slight chance that this will happen again she’s willing to obey them.

“Aye aye, captain.” She mutters dryly, pulling her bra and shirt back down to cover herself.

Shaw grabs her stuff and heads to the door, yanking it open. Root sits up carefully, pulls a face and hauls on the crotch of her pants, oversensitive and tender. 

Shaw glances back at her and grins, just a little, “and you might wanna wear a skirt.” 

She’s gone before Root can gather her wits enough to reply.


End file.
